


School for the Loric

by LoricFool



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoricFool/pseuds/LoricFool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Number Four is 11, and in Britain. After keeping a low profile after their most recent move, John recieves a letter that has no right to be. A month later he finds himself in a castle for a school where everyone can do extraordinary things - and maybe he won't feel so out of place anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The events in this book are real.

Names and places have been changed  
to protect the Loric,  
who remain in hiding.

Other civilisations do exist.

Some of them seek to destroy you.

 

I am Number Four. The fourth of nine kids sent to Earth, fleeing a war on Lorien against the Mogadorians. Each of us had a keeper, a Cêpan, to guide us and mentor us. On Earth, we have hidden from the Mogadorians, who hunt us down, in order. That was part of the charm put on us kids; we could only be killed in order. We each have our symbols branded around our right ankles, and on our left leg we get scars of the other’s symbols when they die. Currently there is only one, and now it is almost two years old.  
I was nine when it came. I woke screaming in pain in the middle of the night. Everything was shaking. I remember Henri, how he had looked so scared but also, hidden behind the horror, relieved. It was the first sign the Mogs were here on Earth, and now we knew it. I think that was where the relief came from; there was no longer the question of the unknown – are they here? Are they coming after us? And then we knew. I was terrified. It proved everything Henri said about Lorien was real, and not just some ghostly bedtime story I had almost convinced myself it was.  
We were gone within the hour, leaving the state, leaving the country. We’ve been moving around Europe for a year since, and now we’re in the UK. We arrived in Essex a week ago.


	2. Magic Exists?

It’s a lazy Saturday. The sun lolls in the sky. It’s a mild day, perfect July weather. The stray short-haired caramel tabby cat we’ve unofficially adopted while we’ve been here is lounging around the base of the bird bath in the front yard, lying in the sun. You wouldn’t know by looking at him that he was living on the streets; his fur shone with health and he was very friendly.   
Henri was in the cellar, using all his computers to scan the news around the world. But that was only on one wall. The rest of the space had been cleared of normal cellar stuff and replaced with training equipment. Resting against the edge of the gym mats laid out were body pads for Henri that he wore when we were sparring. Even though he was a good fighter, he lacked the strength I had simply by being a member of the Garde – sometime in the next couple of years I would get my Legacies, my powers to help me fight the Mogs hunting me down. But for now I just had super strength and speed.   
I’m not complaining though. Not about my Legacies, at least. If I have to live in constant fear, I deserve at least that. Yet, it’s a normal life I want. No more running, no more hiding. No more training, no new schools, to be able to make actual friends.   
I trudge down into the gloom of the cellar, resenting having to leave the warmth and sunshine of the weekend behind me. Henri’s sitting in front of the monitors, a mug of coffee in front of him.  
“How’re you going, kiddo?” He greets me without turning, his words distorted slightly through his Loric accent. People often think that he’s French because of it. We’ve picked up some of the language passing through Europe the last two years, which certainly helps.   
“Missing the sun. Anything in the news?” I ask. Henri shakes his head with a sigh and spins in the chair to face me. His brown hair is greying though he’s only 46, which is still young amongst the Loric, as our average lifespan is about 200 years. He’s tired, his eyes rimmed with red. I wonder how many cups of coffee he’s had.   
“It’s like all the weird in the world has gone on hiatus. There’s been nothing even with the slightest possibility of being superhuman in the news or online for days. I haven’t seen a silence quite like this since we got here.” He sighs again and stands up, stretching. “Ready for some training?”  
“Body or brain? ‘Cos if it’s brain, I vote we do it outside,” I reply with a bit of a grin. Henri smiles back with a raised eyebrow.  
“You’re cheery today,” he states, amusement in his voice. “Okay, we’ll leave the sparring for tomorrow. And you’re not getting out of that no matter how nice the weather is,” he says with false sternness. I run upstairs while he drains his coffee and take the comfy chair on the porch, leaving the faded wooden seat for Henri. I stick my tongue out at him when he arrives, my legs tucked up to my chest.   
“Kids these days. No respect,” he chuckles, pulling the stool forwards into the sunlight. For a few minutes we are silent, just enjoying the uncommon warmth of the day and the life of the yard. The cat, dubbed Hadley by me, meanders over to greet us with a yawn and a stretch, toes splaying wide. Henri watches him in deep thought.  
“Why did you name him Hadley?” He doesn’t look up from the cat.  
I shrug. “I wanted to give him a name that reminded me of Lorien. I don’t remember hearing it or anything, it just came to me and seemed to fit. When I called him Hadley he seemed happy with it.” I shrug again. Henri chuckles as though there’s some kind of inside joke that I’m missing. I continue, “There were other names too, but none of them seemed to fit.” Henri nods, encouraging me onwards. “Liren and Brandon.” I stop when I see his eyebrows shoot up his forehead in amused surprise. “Who are they?”  
“Liren was your father,” he explains. “Your mother’s name was Lara. Your father spent a lot more time with you than was normal for a parent, and that’s probably why you remember his name…” he trails off, gazing thoughtfully into the yard. “Right then, scenarios,” he prompts, snapping himself back to the present.  
We spent most of the day on the porch enjoying the sun and theorising strategies to scenarios, taking breaks here and there for snacks and drinks. The sun is almost below the tree line when a steady beeping starts in the cellar. We both stare for a few seconds before we get up and hurry down to the computers. A few of the screens are blinking out warnings for news reports and web articles that have fallen into the criteria specified by Henri’s search. On the right-most monitor, an antivirus program trills out a warning. Henri swears, sits, and starts typing furiously to counter whatever threat is looming. If it’s not fixed in the next three hours I know we’ll be packing up and leaving again.  
I go back upstairs. With Henri working downstairs, I’ll be ordering take-out for dinner. I grab a book and make use of the last rays of sunlight. When the light becomes unreadable, I gather the mail from the last three days. It’s not a habit because we don’t get personal mail, just advertisements and general junk mail.   
Near the bottom of the pile, a ‘Thursday’ letter, I find a letter, handwritten and addressed to my current alias, John Smith. I’m immediately suspicious. There is a wax stamp on the back, sealing the letter shut. We’re no longer in America, but I still have my accent, so why not exploit it in the most stereotypical way possible? I’m incredibly wary of it, and lay it aside on the table. I order pizza and wait for it to be delivered, skimming through the catalogues. My eyes keep darting to the mysterious letter beside me.   
The doorbell rings. I pay the delivery man and take the pizza and the letter down to Henri. Giving him the letter, he raises an eyebrow.   
“Well, Mr J. Smith, I think you have mail.” He turns it over and sees the stamp. I refill his coffee. He still hasn’t slept. “I think this one’s safe to open. No Mogs hiding away in there waiting to jump out and slaughter you.” He grins, but it doesn’t last long. He returns to frowning over his computers. “Well, are you going to open it or not?”  
I shove some pizza in my mouth and sit silently looking at the letter for a few minutes. My stomach is almost cramping with nerves. Henri seems to know what this is, I tell myself, it can’t be anything that bad. He’s not scared it’s the Mogs so I shouldn’t be. Anyway, if it were the Mogs, they wouldn’t send a letter. I’d be dead already. I slide my finger under the seal and open the envelope.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Smith,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

“Magic?” I ask Henri. He looks troubled, working over his computers. I hold the letter out to him as he turns his attention back to me. He takes it and gives me a glance before he reads it. He takes a deep breath, then releases it.   
“Do you want to go?” He asks when he’s finished.   
“It sounds good, but magic?” I reiterate. “And won’t that mean staying in the same place?” I pull out a second piece of paper from the envelope. It’s a list of items; uniform, books and equipment.  
“Come on, John. What do you think this magic is? I’ve told you before that the Loric have visited Earth many times. What’s your theory?”  
“Some of the Greek gods, you said they were descendants of the Loric and they had powers. Is that what it is? The wizards and witches have some of Lorien in them?” I answer carefully.  
“Good. You have been paying attention,” he says. “Now, are you going or not? I’m leaving this one up to you. I don’t think the Mogs will be able to find you there, there’re some powerful spells hiding that school.”  
“Wait, if I’m getting this letter because I’m a Garde, won’t that mean the others will too?”   
“Possibly. I think Hogwarts only caters to the United Kingdom though, and some of the others are different ages, which really reduces the risk of you meeting them. Then again, you may already be vulnerable.”  
“What about you?” I suddenly realise Henri won’t go with me.   
“I’ll stick around the UK, move maybe once or twice. I won’t be hunted without you, so it’ll be easier to stay put. You should go, kiddo. Without your Legacies yet, this will be a great way to learn to protect yourself and blend in. Don’t worry about me, I’ll send you my address for the holidays, and we can always write to each other.” I feel bad for him, guilty. If it weren’t for me, he’d be able to live a proper life here. He wouldn’t be hunted, doomed to be slaughtered at the hands of the Mogadorians. I glance back down at the letter in my hands.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes an hour and a half to drive to London. Henri says he knows where to get all of my stuff for school. It’s Sunday. Henri is more alert than usual. After spending 2 hours fixing the computers and then going through all the articles the search pulled up, he went to bed. I think it’s the longest he’s slept in weeks. I scan through the list of items again. Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.  
“Can I take Hadley?” I ask hopefully. Since we don’t know if he does have an owner and prefers to spend his time in our yard, I thought Henri would be hesitant. I’m surprised when he agrees happily.  
“Someone needs to keep an eye on you,” he explains. I return to my thoughts. What did witches and wizards do? What could they do, and how could I use so-called magic without any Legacies? Maybe the people of Earth had discovered a way to harness and express the energy and life within them, strengthened by Loric blood.  
I try to turn my mind to other things. The Mogadorians, the invasion. I reach down to touch my scar, the only thing left of Number One. I try to picture what he or she looked like, and what their life was like. I wonder about the others. I can’t remember many details from our year in space. I’m not sure if it’s memory or imagination that shows me a slightly older raven haired girl, and a much older solitary girl. There’s also a cheeky grin from a dark-haired boy with no other features. It’s all fuzzy and probably fake.  
“John. We’re here,” Henri says, pulling me out of my thoughts. He pulls the truck into a park and we get out.   
“Henri, how do you know about all this?” I ask as he leads me towards an unimpressive pub. A sign hung over its door, naming it the Leaky Cauldron. I huff a bit of a chuckle.  
“Don’t worry. It gets cornier. We learnt a bit about our relations with other planets at the academy. Well, most of the mentor Cêpan did. Number Nine doesn’t have a trained Cêpan.” Henri sighed as though this was a long-standing annoyance. “We learnt about our descendants on Earth, and the ‘magic’ they wielded. I knew there was a concentration of such people around London, which is why we’re here. I scouted around a bit when I came up here to withdraw some money from the bank accounts.”   
He ushers me inside and moves to the counter. I’m looking around at the people, listening to him ask the bartender to open the wall to Diagon Alley. It doesn’t make much sense to me but I go with it. Henri knows what he’s doing. The man behind the counter emerges and leads us to a small courtyard and taps a brick with a stick. The brick quivers and slowly an arch forms, the bricks folding into themselves. The other man leaves to return to his duties.   
The arch opens onto a twisting cobbled lane, lined with unimaginable shops. My mouth is hanging open. Henri pushes my jaw up, almost snapping it shut on my tongue. I make a face at him.   
“Was this what Lorien was like?” I ask Henri incredulously. He laughs and shakes his head.  
“No, this is a new version of crazy,” he answers. He seems just as awestruck as I am at the scene before us. “Well,” he says, starting forward, “I’ve been told there’s a bank here somewhere. Ready to explore, kiddo?” I nod with a huge grin on my face. This is the most amazing place I’ve ever seen.   
We walk down the street, marvelling at the names and contents of the shops we pass. I shudder as we pass an apothecary. It smells horrid, and from what I can see in the window the retail is just as strange. There’re broomsticks in some windows, robes on display in others. There is a menagerie of animals for sale down the lane. A white building overshadows the shops around it.   
“Gringotts Wizard Bank,” Henri reads as he walks up the stairs. His mouth is slightly open with awe. I get the urge to snap it shut the same way he had done to me earlier. A small person… creature bows us through the bronze doors. Two more of them stand beside a second, silver door with a warning inscribed. We enter a massive marble hall. I stand gawking while Henri heads to a counter to set up an account and transfer some of our money. It doesn’t take long. I see him tuck a key into his pocket as he gets up.  
“Okay John, we’ve got some magic money!” He says with flair. “Ready to spend it?” I agree eagerly and we re-emerge into Diagon Alley. “Do you want to start at the top of the list or with the first thing we find?”  
“List. More of a chance to explore!” Henri laughs at my enthusiasm but agrees. Any scepticism I had about magic on the way here is blown away. I pull the list out. “Uniform.” I make a face. I never had to wear uniform for school in America.   
Henri points to a building toting a sign Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. We go in. While I’m being fitted for the robes, Henri sorts through other items and selects a hat and gloves. When I’m finished, I choose a cloak, and we leave the shop with slightly lighter pockets and an even lighter, small package that Madam Malkin had bewitched, containing all my school attire.  
“Books is the next thing,” I say. We have to wander down the street a bit to find a store called Flourish and Blotts. The amount of books squeezed in is stunning. I think Henri is about to go crazy with the amount of knowledge stored in this one room, and the range of texts. There are some that are clearly ancient, and others written in languages I’ve never seen. While Henri looks, I search for my school books. They’re not hard to find. I find Henri almost salivating over some ancient-looking books in another language.   
“You know what these are John? They’re written in Loric. Now, I’m a little rusty because I haven’t read it in six years, but shit! This one’s by Pittacus Lore, I think it’s his diary of Earth or something.” I grin at his inner nerd emerging. I gently pry the book out of his hand and add it to my already precarious pile. Henri eagerly grabs another couple of books in Loric and we pay. The shopkeeper gives us an odd look at the books Henri's selected, commenting on the language and the very few people able to read it.  
“Ooh, a wand!” I quickly find a store, Ollivanders: makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A bell tinkles as we enter. It is sparse and the walls are stacked to the ceiling with boxes. A man appears from the stacks.  
“Good day,” he says softly, eerily. Henri smiles warmly at him. Large silvery eyes return the sentiment before turning to me.  
“Hello,” I say, “I’m wanting to buy a wand.” It's a little awkward and I’m mentally face-palming. What else would I be in a wand shop for?  
“Are you now? I might be able to help with that. Mr Ollivander. Now yours is a face I haven't seen before. You are?” he holds his hand out. I take it.  
“John Smith.”  
“Unusual to hear an accent as American as yours here, Mr Smith. Let’s see what I can find for you. Which is your wand arm?” I frown at Henri. He shrugs.  
“I’m right handed?” I hazard. Mr Ollivander gives a small nod and indicates I hold my arm out. A tape measure hovers over from the counter of its own accord and starts taking measurements, some of them quite bizarre.   
“Every Ollivander wand has a core of powerful magical substance, Mr Smith. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand. The wand chooses the wizard, of course.” It seemed like a run-down he was well-rehearsed in giving.  
Mr Ollivander had accumulated a stack of boxes on the counter. He takes one out and hands it to me. “Here, try this one. Give it a bit of a wave. Yew and dragon heartstring. Nine and a half inches, nicely flexible.” I look at Henri again, and again I get a shrug. I flick it, only to have it yanked out of my hand firmly and another put in its place. “Beech and phoenix feather. Eleven inches, strong and hardy.” Again it is removed from my grasp quickly. I go through another six or seven repeats until sparks fly out the tip of one and Mr Ollivander seems satisfied.   
“Very good. Sturdy, cherry and unicorn hair. Ten and a half inches. A very rare wand wood. It has a certain strange power to it,” he says, unashamedly ogling me with contemplation. Henri pays Mr Ollivander and we quickly leave the shop. I shiver on the way out.  
“Was a bit intense, wasn’t he?” Henri muses, noticing.   
“Oh yeah,” I huff, pulling out the list. “A pewter cauldron,” I mutter. Looking up, it’s not hard to find the store. There are large cauldrons in the windows and spilling out into the lane. Potage’s Cauldron Shop reads above the door. Minutes later we have a pewter cauldron to add to the other equipment. Wizeacre’s Wizarding Equipment is our next goal, and we emerge with a brass telescope, crystal phials and a set of silver scales.  
Feeling the lightness of his pockets now, Henri says; “You’ll work me into the ground at this rate,” with an exaggerated sigh. I laugh because it is far from the truth. Henri doesn’t work and never has, at least not on Earth. The precious gems we were given from Lorien have given us enough money to last at least ten lifetimes.  
"One last stop, John," Henri says, moving over to the Owl Emporium.  
"But didn't you say I could take Hadley? Why do we need to go in here?" I ask, confused.  
"What, I'm not allowed to get anything for myself here in this wondrous wizarding world?" He cringes a bit at the alliteration. I just raise an eyebrow briefly and follow him, admiring the large birds in the safety of their cages. While Henri searches for whatever it is he's looking for, I wander the store. There's more that just owls in here; cats and toads are stacked around in cages. The little light in the shop glints of dozens of pairs of eyes, and there’s a constant rustling of movement. There’s another kid, probably about my age, with light hair and huge, thick glasses that look like they’re about to slide off his face, inspecting a small barn owl.  
An excited voice bubbles up from the front of store, speaking so fast I can barely understand the French that’s come forth. Then I hear Henri’s hesitant reply. The kid at the owl cage also looks up and sighs, then turns to face me.  
“Is that your dad?” He asks. I nod. “You might want to go save him. That’s my mum, and she won’t stop talking now that she’s finally found someone who speaks French. I’m Sam, by the way,” he holds out his hand, using the other to push the glasses back up his nose.   
“I’m John,” I reply, taking the offered hand.   
“Are you a muggle-born?” He asks as we both make our way to the front of the shop.  
“A what?”  
“Were your parents magic? I’m guessing not, if you don’t know what a muggle-born is,”he clarifies.  
“Oh. Um, Henri’s not, but he knows about this stuff. I don’t know about my mum. What about you?”  
“Mum went to Beauxbatons - that’s in France - but then she met Dad and she thought she’d left the magic stuff behind her. Until I got my letter, that is.”   
“Your dad was normal - I mean, not a wizard?”   
“Yeah,” he says sadly. I don’t push.  
“Henri! You ready to go?” I call out to him, interrupting the flow of French out of the mouth of a petite woman, who I assume to be Sam’s mum. Henri looks at me with a bit of relief and hoists the owl cage he’s holding a bit higher.  
“Well come ooon,” I moan, dragging him to the counter to pay for the ruffled owl. He sends a quick apologetic smile to the woman, who is now following Sam towards the owl from earlier, looking a little affronted. Once she’s out of earshot I release my grip on Henri’s sleeve and he sighs and blinks a couple of times.  
“Very nice woman,” he says sarcastically. “Thanks for the save,” he adds sincerely.   
"You're welcome," I grin. We leave pretty quickly in Henri’s eagerness to avoid the woman again. On the way home I squeeze information from Henri about this new world. He doesn't know much, and I intend to spend the next month before term scanning through all the textbooks.


	4. Chapter 4

The next month is, in fact, pretty boring. I read the textbooks, but there’s only so many times you can read a book before you start to go into a coma. I play with Hadley and enjoy the sun outside, and on the wetter days I play video games - the alien ones of course - and fiddle with the Loric Chest. In the last week of August, Henri insists I pack my bags. He’s decided I should take the Chest with me in case something happens to him while I’m gone. It’s really not that difficult to pack everything up; a lot of it is still in the bags and boxes from when we arrived.  
I can hardly sleep for excitement on the night of August 31st. I know Henri will have me up on time, but there’s so many things running through my mind that could go wrong. We could miss the train, the Mogs could find us, I might meet another of the Garde and break the charm and be responsible for the deaths of the others- I try to stop the train of thoughts. Instead I pull out A History of Magic and read that for a couple of hours until my eyes drift closed and I have no energy to even think about worrying.   
I’d predicted right. Henri had me up half an hour before sunrise, doing last minute preparations and a final training session. He’s warned me three times so far this morning about staying on my guard and blending in, because this isn’t like the other schools I’ve been to. I won’t be leaving at the first sign of trouble because the place is incredibly well-defended and the Mogs would have a very hard time finding it. Even though we’re not saying much, the car is full of nervous energy. I have butterflies in my stomach and my knee is bouncing. Hadley’s in a cat carrier in between Henri and me, almost asleep.   
“John, relax,” Henri snorts in amusement. He reaches over and puts a heavy hand on my knee to stop the bouncing. I think my nervousness is affecting him. I send him an apologetic glance. Five minutes later, my leg is bouncing again and we’re pulling up at King’s Cross Station. It’s 10:30, which gives us half an hour to find the mysterious Platform 9¾. Getting out of the truck, I try to shake off the nerves and ease the cramping in my stomach, relaxing my tense muscles.   
Together Henri and I pack my bags onto a trolley and head into the railway station. Hadley’s still dozing in the carrier despite the bumps and jostling of the trolley. He makes a great lazy Sunday companion.   
“Uh, Henri? Where are we going, exactly? In case you weren’t aware, most train stations don’t have ¾ platforms…” I’m looking around apprehensively, trying to find the platform through the bustle of people, but it’s nowhere to be seen. All I can see are the plastic markers for platforms 9 and 10.   
“I’m sure we can find out. There must be someone here to ask. Don’t worry, John.” Don’t worry. Yeah right. we have half an hour, and Henri doesn’t even know where to start looking for the bloody platform. I sigh out a slightly shaky breath, still scanning the crowd for anything that could be what we’re looking for.   
A family catches my eye. Most of the kids are pushing trolleys laden similarly to mine, with the exception of the youngest girl.. I elbow Henri and wave my chin in their direction. The older of the two girls is also looking around, and I think she sees us. I have no idea who she is, I’ve never seen her before, but she waves at us. There’s no one else around us she could be waving back. There’s a camera hanging around her neck and a warm smile on her face. She gestures us over. I glance up at Henri and he shrugs in bafflement. I start pushing the trolley, following the family as they wind through the crowds.  
“Hi! That’s a cute cat you’ve got there,” she says, bending down to peer into Hadley’s cage. “What’s his name?” She’s still smiling, and I can tell I like her already. She has a kind and happy personality which makes me feel a bit more at ease.  
“Hadley,”I say. “Are you going to Hogwarts?” I ask her as she snaps a photo of the cat. Hadley is suddenly awake and trying to move away from the camera. I frown. “That’s not like him, he’s usually really friendly.” She shrugs it off and puts her camera away.  
“Yeah, we’re going to Hogwarts. I’m Sarah Hart, officially a first-year student.”  
“John Smith, also a first year. This is Henri, my dad. Do..do you know how to get onto the platform?” She smiles and nods.   
“This is my fourth time. My brothers are both students too. Just follow us - it looks scary but there’s nothing to it.”  
“Sarah honey, are you coming?” Her mother calls from up ahead.   
“Yeah, just give me a sec,” Sarah calls back. She smiles at both of us and indicates for us to follow. Henri smiles politely. The rest of her family is stopped in front of the barrier between the platforms. One of her brothers had disappeared. As we walk up, Sarah introduces us to her parents. Her father is distractedly keeping track of her younger sister Mia, coaxing her towards the barrier.  
“Mum, this is John and Henri. John’s a first-year too,” Sarah beams.  
“Hi, Henri Smith. Pleasure to meet you,” Henri says, holding out a hand. Mrs Hart takes it.  
“Annie Hart. You're French, yes? You've still got a strong accent. How long have you two been here?” She smiles back. Sarah and I leave them to their small talk, Sarah favouring showing the way onto the platform.   
“See, it’s simple enough. You just have to run or walk into the wall. If you want I can go first,” she explains. I place a hand on the barrier - at least, I try to. My hand sort of moves into the stone, with a bit of a tingling resistance.   
“No, I think I’ll be right. Let’s do this,” I say, taking a deep breath and backing up a few paces. Hadley meows almost anxiously from the trolley. Then I walk forwards, into the wall. Shuddering, I close my eyes as I hit it. When I open them again, I’m somewhere else, and it almost looks like a different time, if it weren’t for the people all around in modern clothes. I look behind me to where a wrought-iron archway stands, showing Sarah about to emerge. I quickly move out of the way.   
Once she’s through, Sarah resumes conversation.  
“So you’re a muggleborn?”  
“I don’t know about my mum, but Henri’s not magical. God, that feels so strange to say it. It’s like saying he’s not a unicorn in a serious conversation. It just feels wrong. But you, your family are all wizards?”  
“Ha, yeah. We’re a pureblood family. You’ll find some purebloods are totally stuck up, unfortunately, and they ruin everyone’s reputation. Like the James’ and the Malfoys…” The last is said quietly but with heated emotion, looking over to where a few pompous-looking boys are, standing with an air of self-importance. One of them looks over and sees us watching them and his face distorts into an ugly scowl. Sarah looks away to find the rest of her family. I glance back through the arch to see if Henri’s coming.  
He looks like he’ll be joining me in less than a minute. Annie Hart is making gestures towards the barrier-archway and they’re slowly drifting closer. I take the chance to get a proper look around the station.   
There’s a magnificent scarlet steam train sitting in the tracks, pouring smoke into the sky. There are people all over the platform, many pushing trolleys. Owls are hooting in cages, some cats are wandering about, free from constraints and winding between people’s legs. Lively chaos could sum it up. I scan the faces again to see if I can find the boy, Sam, from the owl shop. He seemed nice enough.  
I’m hovering awkwardly on the fringes of the Hart family when Henri and Mrs Hart emerge from Kings Cross. Henri and I drift away from the group slightly. His eyes are scanning the area, analysing everything and everyone.  
“Best friends already? How’d you manage that?” I’m confused, until I follow his gaze to the purebloods Sarah pointed out earlier. Not so subtly, the same boy who caught us watching him is glaring daggers at us. I shrug it off.  
“Sarah says they’re the stuck-up ‘purebloods’ that nobody likes. I haven’t actually met them.” I deliberately turn my back on the guy.   
“John, you have to promise me you will let me know if anything, anything, happens. If you need me, you send a letter immediately and I will find a way to meet you. When you get in, find somewhere well-secured for the Chest. I don’t want you to draw unnecessary attention to yourself, kiddo.” I know he’s saying it all because he cares about me, but it’s getting kind of old the fourth time around.  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply wryly.  
“Don’t show your intelligence. It’ll make them resent you.” I huff out a laugh.  
“Off I go to rule the school,” I say. Despite my cheeriness, I’m not becoming painfully aware that I won’t be seeing Henri for months. It makes me scared and I’m suddenly not so keen to go, anxiety bubbling up beneath my awe at this fantastical world.   
“Be good,” Henri says. He readily hugs me back when I embrace him, holding him tightly like that will force him to come with me. He gives a sad chuckle and releases his strong grip around my back. “You’ll be fine John. And don’t worry about me. We’ll stay in touch. Just don’t lose sight of why you’re here. Now go on, you’ve got a train to catch.”  
With one last glance back at Henri, I grab my trunk and the cat carrier off the trolley and make a beeline for an empty compartment in the train. I can see Henri through the window but I try not to look at him. In the process of distinctly not looking at Henri, a large group of redheads suddenly emerges from the archway and blocks my non-existent view of my Cepan.


	5. Chapter 5

I sit with little but my own thoughts for about five minutes. I see Sarah board the train, and less than half a minute later she knocks on the compartment door. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s come to sit with me. With her demeanor and her family’s history, I thought she’d already have friends in the wizarding world. I tell her as much and she laughs. She says she has a friend, Emily, who she hasn’t seen yet but should be coming. And since she’s sitting with me now, Emily will just have to take what she can get. I smile.  
The train starts to move. I glance out the window, and that may be a mistake. I can see Henri, see him getting further away, quickly growing smaller as the train speeds away from platform 9 ¾. There’s a tight feeling in my chest and I swallow a lump that’s formed in my throat. Suddenly the loneliness of my position hits me; no one knows. I’m all alone and I can’t tell anyone. I’ve got no one.   
I’m startled out of my thoughts by a cautious knock on the door. I look up to see massive glasses consuming Sam’s face. I smile at him and invite him to join us. He’s wearing a black NASA T-shirt and jeans, and in proper light I can see that his hair is sandy blonde, slightly darker than Sarah’s.   
“Hi Sam. This is Sarah; Sarah, this is Sam. I met him in Diagon Alley,” I introduce them. They briefly exchange pleasantries. The compartment descents into a brief state of uncomfortable silence. My curiosity gets the better of me and I ask Sarah about her life in a wizarding family. Sam seems interested in the conversation too, and for a while it’s an uninterrupted stream of questions and answers until a woman slides the door open, accompanied by a trolley laden with sweets.   
“Four chocolate frogs, a licorice wand, and every-flavoured beans, please,” Sarah speaks up. Sam and I shake our heads at the woman.   
“No thanks,” I say. Sarah places the food on the seat beside her but makes no move to eat any of it. Almost as soon as the trolley lady moves on, another knock sounds on the door. A tearful, round-faced boy peers in.   
“Sorry, but you haven’t seen a toad, have you?” His voice is wavering a bit. We all shake our heads.  
“Sorry. I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere,” Sarah reassures him. The boy sniffles.  
“Please, if you see him…? Thank you,” he says and leaves. I can hear him wailing to himself quietly as he moves further down the carriage. The talk of animals reminds me of Hadley sleeping in his cage.   
“Hey, do either of you mind if I let Hadley out?” I ask, kneeling down infront of it. At their shrugs, I open the door. Hadley stirs, then seems to notice the door is open. He stretches and emerges, then sets about exploring the compartment. I return to my seat just as Sarah lets out a squeak and opens the door. Another girl enters, who I assume must be Emily.  
“Hey Sarah! Did you hear Harry Potter’s on the train?”  
“Really? Well, we best leave him alone for now. I’d imagine he’s a bit overwhelmed by hordes of fans.” Emily finally seems to notice me and Sam also in the compartment. She also notices the cat, and bends down to pat him while she introduces herself.  
“Hi, I’m Emily Knapp. You are…?”  
“John Smith,” I smile.  
“Sam Goode,” Sam mutters lowly into his chest, his face a bit red.   
“Here, now that Emily’s here I’ve got something for all of you. And I thought these would be a bit of entertainment value.” Sarah chucks a chocolate frog at each of us and gestures to Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans with a sly grin. Then she rests her hands on her camera, almost daring us with her casual manner.   
I squint at her suspiciously and start with the chocolate frog. Opening it, I find that the frog fortunately doesn’t move, but the picture in the card does. An aged man with a long white beard is moving about in a way that I inexplicably know is independent. It’s not like a film or a recording; this thing, this magic is live. I stare at it in fascination and completely forget about the other people around me for a minute or two. Underneath the picture, the name Merlin is scrawled. Coming back to reality, I see Sam is in a similar state. Looking up at Sarah, she’s watching us with an amused expression.  
“Does your camera take moving photos?” I ask her, completely enraptured by the magic.  
“Only if I develop them right. That wasn’t supposed to be the funny part; I can’t wait for the next bit.” She and Emily share a laugh.   
The compartment door slides open again and the round-faced boy is back, accompanied by a bushy-haired girl in Hogwarts robes.  
“You haven’t seen Neville’s toad have you?” she says in a bossy sort of voice. ‘No’s and shaken heads are her answer, and the girls sink back into laughter. Hadley jumps up on the seat beside me, bumps his head along my side then curls up and falls asleep. The door closes and Neville and the girl disappear. She reappears less than a minute later and sticks her head through the door.  
“Also you should start getting changed. We’ll be arriving soon, and you’ll all need your robes on.” She disappears again. I feel bewildered. She was like a hurricane, she spoke so fast and with so much enthusiasm it left me half emotionally exhausted and half trying to understand what on earth she’d actually been saying. I blink a couple of times to clear my mind. I’m the first to actually make a move towards getting changed, but once I’m up the others follow suit.   
A voice echoes through the train; “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.” My mind flashes to the Loric Chest in my bag. I feel a bit of panic at leaving it here, but decide it’s better than carrying it. I scoop the sleepy cat up and put him back in his carrier.   
“Time to enter the wild unknown?” I ask the others with a shaky breath. We’re all shaking a bit, all nervous, but still all very much excited. I know Sarah has older brothers, but I doubt hearing about it is anything like actually being here. Sam looks like he’s struggling to keep the oversized glasses on his face.   
We join the crowded corridor, floating along with everyone else until the train stops and the crowd spits us out onto a tiny dark platform. The fresh air feels amazing despite the cold. A bobbing lamp appears over the heads of the students.  
“Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here! All right there, Harry? C’mon, follow me - any more firs’-years? Mind yer step now! Firs’-years follow me!” A mountain of a man appears behind the light, boasting a kind, hairy face and gentle beetle eyes. Sam jostles me, looks up and joins me in brief gawking. The girls come out a bit more prepared.  
“That must be Hagrid, the Groundskeeper. Will says he’s half-giant,” Sarah says with awe. We join the shivering crowd of eleven-year-olds as they follow Hagrid down a steep narrow path into the thickening darkness of the wilderness. There’s barely any conversation, from anyone. Occasional cold mumbles, chatters and sniffs break the silence.  
“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec, jus’ round this bend here,” Hagrid calls over his shoulder. I join in the excited ‘Oooh!’s of the group. I can’t really see Sam’s face beside me in the dark, but I can feel him shivering, though whether it’s from cold or excitement I can’t tell.  
The path opens out onto the shore of a giant lake, black as obsidian and smooth as glass. Across the water, a magnificent castle stands out, sitting atop a minor mountain, it’s turrets and spires reaching into the night. Windows are illuminated by flickering light that only comes from flame.   
It looks amazing at night, and I can’t wait to see it in daylight. It doesn’t even come close to comparing with the castles we saw on our way down from Scotland.  
Hagrid’s lamp swings around and I refocus on him. One of the faces caught in the light attracts more of my attention and my stomach drops. All the excitement from seconds ago drains away, leaving only cold dread. Shit.   
Not after everything, not after we’ve been so careful. It can’t all come crumbling down now. Not here, not now. I’m panicking. I’ve stopped shivering.


	6. Chapter 6

“John? Are you alright?” Sam asks beside me. I take a shuddering breath and nod. There’s no use panicking. I just need to find a way to address this. He hasn’t noticed me yet, which means I still have the advantage. If you can consider anything being an advantage in this situation. I pull my eyes away from his face.  
“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Sam and I join Sarah and Emily, who’ve already found one. I avoid the conversation and turn my thoughts inward.  
“Everyone in? Right then - FORWARD!” The boats glide away from the lakefront, and there’s very little conversation from any of the other boats. I need to find a way around the inevitable before it becomes a big problem. What would Henri do? After five minutes, I have a suitable solution, one I think Henri would be proud of.  
Zoning back into what’s happening, I can’t look up at the castle because Sam has just pushed me down.  
“What the hell, Sam?!”  
“Sorry,” he grimaces. “You seemed totally zoned. It didn’t look like you heard Hagrid before.” A curtain of ivy drifts past, splitting around the boats and taking us into a dark tunnel. The boats stop when we reach a sort of underground harbour, and we climb out into the pebbly shore.   
“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” Hagrid asks, holding up the amphibian from the boat he’d just checked. Neville cries out happily and takes his toad, ‘Trevor’, from the half-giant.  
Hagrid leads us up a passageway in the rocks. We follow the light cast by the lamp over damp grass and up a flight of stone steps, finally crowding around a huge oak door.   
“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?” He raises his fist and knocks, three loud resounding booms.  
The door swings open at once. A stern-looking witch in emerald-green robes stands in the doorway. She's someone I don’t want to get on the bad side of.  
“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid says.  
“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”  
The Entrance Hall is enormous, almost the size of a house. The walls are made of stone, marble staircases lead to upper levels, and torches line the walls, sending flickering shadows upwards to disappear into the abyss of the high ceiling.   
Professor McGonagall leads us across the hall to a smaller empty room where we crowd together. I can hear the voices of hundreds of people through another giant door as we pass it.  
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the Professor begins. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.  
“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are as Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.  
“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting,” she pauses. “I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” With that, she leaves. I briefly wonder at what this ‘sorting’ could be about, but soon dismiss it. I have someone to find.  
I search the packed crowd for the curly haired blond. When I find him, I excuse myself from Sam and wriggle my way through the students.  
“Hey Justin,” I say. My voice is a little shaky.  
“Ian? You got a letter too, huh? I thought you’d left and I’d never see you again.” I give a bit of a nervous laugh that I’m pretty sure sounds more like I’m going to vomit.  
“Yeah, I thought the same. Look, I never told you this. Ian is my middle name, and Forth was my mother’s surname. Just, didn’t want to scare you or anything when you heard differently.”  
“What? Well then, what’s your full name? And why were you going by Ian?” I laugh again.  
“I was going by Ian because it was a bit more...ah.. British than John Smith. It was a blending thing. Apparently magic doesn’t care when it enrolls you.” I wince, waiting for some kind of bad reaction. However, I should have expected his reaction. It was Justin after all, cheerful friendly Justin. He just laughs and grins at me.  
“That’s understandable. It is going to take some getting used to calling you ‘John’ instead of Ian. I must say, it suits you better, Mr American.” I smile with relief, some of my nerves relaxing, leaving behind less of a sick feeling.  
Before I can leave the awkward conversation, the crowd gives a collective jump and there are several screams. Looking around, I can see why, and I let out a small involuntary squeak of shock. Pearly-white ghosts are drifting through the back wall, heading to where I think the Great Hall is.   
“Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -” A fat little monk says, cut off by another of his ghostly companions dressed in a ruff and tights.  
“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?” I think he’d finally noticed us. No one speaks, everyone silent with shock and awe and probably a little fear.  
“New students! About to be sorted, I suppose?” The Fat Friar greets, and upon receiving a few muted nods, continues; “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.”  
Professor McGonagall returns and hurries the ghosts past, “Move along now, the Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.” The ghosts drift through the wall into the Great Hall.   
“Now, form a line, and follow me,” the Professor instructs after a pause. I glance nervously at Justin, the realisation of what’s coming finally sinking in. She then leads us back into the Entrance Hall and through a pair of large double doors.   
Four long tables are arranged in parallel in the middle of the room, candles hovering mid-air above them. Older students are all seated, each of the four houses represented by coloured ties of the students and matching banners hanging over the tables. At the top of the Hall another long table stands, the staff of the school seated behind it. The ceiling of the space looks non-existent to the point I almost think there isn’t one. I can see the night’s sky perfectly, stars twinkling against the midnight blue.   
There are hundreds of students staring at us. I try to ignore their gazes and focus on Professor McGonagall as she places a really old wizard’s hat on a stool. I resist the urge to wince in disgust. Nobody is talking; there is absolute silence and everyone is watching the tattered dirty hat. Which has a mouth, which it opens and then begins to sing, the jagged tear moving animatedly.

“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folks use any means  
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

The Hall roars with applause as it finishes and bows to each of the tables, then returns to it’s still state, making me wonder if I’m going crazy and hallucinated the whole thing. I notice Sam stick his head out of line in front of me, looking back to meet my eyes. The green shade his face had taken on since we entered the castle is turning to a more natural red shade with his relief at the task. I smile weakly at him.  
There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see, is all that’s going through my mind. Will it know about the Loric? My stomach is cramping up again and my throat’s tight.  
Professor McGonagall steps forwards, holding a long roll of parchment, similar to old comedies where the scroll rolls out ten feet or so, but not quite so long.   
“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she says. “Abbott, Hannah!”  
A blonde pigtailed head stumbles forward. When she puts the hat on it falls over her eyes. After a moment the hat shouts ‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ and Hannah Abbott takes her place at the cheering Hufflepuff table.   
The names keep coming. Then, “Finch-Fletchley, Justin!” is called out. Justin staggers past me to the stool and is sorted to Hufflepuff.   
“Goode, Samuel!” A few snickers circulate the room and Sam walks up to the hat.   
“GRYFFINDOR!” He joins the gold and red table.  
“Granger, Hermione!” was also sent to Gryffindor. I watch her quickly engage Sam in a cheerful one-sided conversation.  
“Hart, Sarah!”   
Sarah moves up, a lot steadier than Sam. She looks at me as she pulls the hat on, biting her lip as it slides over her eyes. After a moment; “HUFFLEPUFF!”  
“Hopkins, Wayne!”  
“HUFFLEPUFF!”  
“Hoyle, Margaret!” A small mousy girl nervously trips forwards to the hat. Her thick glasses prevent the hat from falling down her face. The hat takes almost two minutes to put her in ‘RAVENCLAW!’  
“James, Mark!” is the guy who was glaring at me on the station. He walks smugly to the silver and green of the Slytherin table.  
“Knapp, Emily!”   
“RAVENCLAW!”  
“Longbottom, Neville!”   
This kid was obviously going to be a favourite among the bullies. He trips over on the way to the stool. The Sorting Hat takes a long time to decide ‘GRYFFINDOR’, after which he walks off still wearing it. I feel sorry for him. The seated student body is howling with laughter.   
More first-years are sorted, spread pretty evenly between the four houses.   
“Potter, Harry!” Emily had said something about him on the train. Students were craning their necks and whispers filled the Hall, bringing it to an almost deafening pitch despite the quiet words. Less than a minute later, Harry Potter joins the Gryffindor table. A couple of them start chanting: ‘we got Potter!’  
“Smith, John!” My legs feel like they’re very visibly shaking as I make my way up and sit on the stool. I’m glad that the hat does fall over my eyes when I put it on because of the eyes of the hundreds of students.   
“Hmm, another one? Number Four, if I’m not mistaken,” a voice whispers beside my ear. That feeling of cold dread returns. “Don’t worry, little Garde. I’m only here to sort you. I will not and cannot share this with anyone, however I can warn you to keep your distance from another. Your charm is still intact, and we wouldn’t want to break that, now would we? The best I can give you is to stay away from Ravenclaw in your year.” The only reply I offer is a shaky breath and a mental nod.  
“Now, your sorting… You have an interesting mind, Mr Smith. You are very loyal to those who become your friends, and yet you display great courage. You would be great in both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Tricky. Hufflepuff will give you the friends you will need and build your trusts for the future… yes, I think that’ll do. HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat screeches. I shrink back at the yell in my ear. Relief belatedly washes over me and I pull the hat off, walking over to a seat next to Sarah at the rightmost table.   
“Smith, Zacharias!” I’m not sure what to think. He’s sorted into Hufflepuff as well and sits a few seats down, surveying my curiously.  
The sortings finish with a “Zabini, Blaise” sent to Slytherin. Professor McGonagall takes the Sorting Hat and the scroll away. I meet Sam’s gaze on the Gryffindor table. He looks a bit overwhelmed and lost. Some of the other first-years around him are talking animatedly.  
“So, I- John, you have some secret twin I didn’t know about?” Justin asks beside me lowly, gesturing with his chin at Zacharias.  
“Nope,” I say brightly back, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Never seen him before in my life,” I add.  
“You two know each other?” Sarah asks curiously.  
“Yeah, I met Ia-John at school for the three months he was there last year. Justin Finch-Fletchley.” I glare at him. He seems aware of his slip up and winces apologetically.  
“Sarah Hart, pleased to meet you.” She smiles at him, but she looks a little troubled and glances at me. She shifts her gaze up to the Ravenclaw table to find Emily. Our attentions are all drawn to the front of the Hall as an old man with a lot of silver hair stands up, his beard hanging down around his belt. I can’t help but wonder at how long he took to grow it.  
“Welcome!” he says, beaming around at the students with his arms out. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” He sits back down. I feel a little slack-jawed. People are clapping and cheering.This must be the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. He seems a little...odd, to say it nicely. I shake the thoughts off as the students go back to conversations.  
I turn back to the table and catch Sarah watching me curiously. As soon as she notices she turns away and her cheeks colour a little.  
The empty dishes that had lined the table when we arrived are now stacked high with foods of all kinds. Roast meats, potatoes, salads, gravy, sausages, vegetables and so many other things. I barely know where to start. There’s not much conversation for about two minutes as we’re all stuffing our faces with the amazing meals.   
The Fat Friar ghost from the Entrance hall drifts down through the table with a cheery smile.   
“New Hufflepuffs! Welcome, young first-years. Ready to help us win the House Cup?” he says as he floats past, heading towards the older students up the table. That seems to spark conversation between the unacquainted first-years. The first girl sorted, Hannah, speaks up, introducing herself. Everyone else follows suit, myself included.  
Soon enough, Ernie jumps on my accent and begins asking about America and my life.  
“‘John Smith’ is the most typical American name there is. How much did you get picked on when you came over here?” he asks with a grin. I make a quick decision to share the explanation I made for Justin.  
“Well, my middle name’s Ian, and my mother’s last name was Forth, so I tried to avoid the whole ‘John Smith typical American’ thing by going by Ian Forth. In the last month I came to terms with my horrible fate,” I answer him with a bit of a grin of my own.   
“You were a weird Ian,” Justin chipped in. Susan looks at him in confusion.  
“We both went to the same muggle school for a few months,” I explain.   
“Why did you leave the States?” Sarah asks.  
I shrug. “Just needed a change of scenery, I guess. It’s just me and my dad.” I’m saved from more interrogations by the arrival of desserts, replacing the meats as they fade away. I scoop some apple pie onto my plate with some purple icecream.   
The conversation turns away from me and onto magic.  
“I accidentally threw a ball through my bedroom window when I was six. I got so scared of my mum finding out that the window fixed itself,” Hannah recounts. We laugh.  
“Hey Ian - sorry, John, do you remember when Mr Harris’ chalk started writing on the blackboard when he was about to give me detention? I don’t know if that was you or me who did that, and then there was that Tyrese guy, his hair turned into a fluoro green afro when he was bullying that kid,” Justin says animatedly. I smile at him in return, but inwardly I’m squirming uncomfortably.   
The others continue to share their stories of accidental magic. Sarah made a fruit tree go all floppy so she could reach its branches when she was four. Zacharias tells about how his first bit of magic was when he was three, when he enlarged his pug to the size of a retriever.   
No one asks me about my magic - I’m not keen on sharing my first memory of it. I thought I had just been really scared at the time, and hallucinated. Henri hadn’t mentioned it afterwards. After I got One’s scar, when I woke screaming, the whole room seemed to be shaking. I dismissed the broken lightbulb in the bedside lamp as thrashing. Now I know it probably wasn’t.  
The Headmaster stands up again and all conversation dies.   
“Ahem - just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” He pauses and I follow his eyes to two boys with flaming red hair and identical faces. I vaguely remember them from the station, blocking my view of Henri. At the same table there are two other similar redheads, though not with quite the same resemblance.  
The Headmaster continues.  
“I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” He pauses for a moment. “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.  
“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”  
Hannah laughs a little at this, one of a few. Many of the other students have odd looks on their faces, halfway between amused and troubled. The desserts fade off the plates, leaving them sparkling and clean.   
“And now, bedtime. Off you trot!” and with that, we’re dismissed. An older student makes his way down to our end of the table.   
“Congratulations! I'm prefect Gabriel Truman, and I'm delighted to welcome you to Hufflepuff House. Please, follow me, I’ll show you to the Hufflepuff common room, and from there, your dorms,” the boy says. We get up from our places, shuffling tiredly but contently behind Gabriel. He leads us out of the Hall, down flights of stairs past portraits that move, similarly to the chocolate frog cards from the train. He talks as he walks, telling us about Hufflepuff over his shoulder enthusiastically as he leads us through the spectacular castle.  
“Our emblem is the badger, an animal that is often underestimated, because it lives quietly until attacked, but which, when provoked, can fight off animals much larger than itself, including wolves. Our house colours are yellow and black, and our common room lies one floor below the ground, on the same corridor as the kitchens.  
Now, there are a few things you should know about Hufflepuff house. First of all, let's deal with a perennial myth about the place, which is that we're the least clever house. WRONG. Hufflepuff is certainly the least boastful house, but we've produced just as many brilliant witches and wizards as any other. Want proof? Look up Grogan Stump, one of the most popular Ministers for Magic of all time. He was a Hufflepuff - as were the successful Ministers Artemesia Lufkin and Dugald McPhail. Then there's the world authority on magical creatures, Newt Scamander; Bridget Wenlock, the famous thirteenth-century Arithmancer who first discovered the magical properties of the number seven, and Hengist of Woodcroft, who founded the all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade, which lies very near Hogwarts School. Hufflepuffs all.  
So, as you can see, we've produced more than our fair share of powerful, brilliant and daring witches and wizards, but, just because we don't shout about it, we don't get the credit we deserve. Ravenclaws, in particular, assume that any outstanding achiever must have come from their house. I got into big trouble during my third year for duelling a Ravenclaw prefect who insisted Bridget Wenlock had come from his house, not mine. I should have got a week of detentions, but Professor Sprout let me off with a warning and a box of coconut ice.”  
He slows when we approach a large painting of fruit.   
“This is the entrance to the kitchens. The basement isn’t far past here. If you ever want to get into the kitchens, tickle the pear.” His voice is honest but his eyes glint with liveliness. He smiles and continues on, finally stopping in front of a shadowy recess in the stone wall, stacked with large barrels. The prefect turns to face us.  
“This is the entrance into the Hufflepuff common room,” Gabriel explains. He gets a few apprehensive glances in response. “Now, it’s important you remember how to get in. Tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', and the lid will swing open. We are the only house at Hogwarts that also has a repelling device for would-be intruders. If the wrong lid is tapped, or if the rhythm of the tapping is wrong, the illegal entrant is doused in vinegar.”  
He opens the barrel. It seems simple enough. He motions for us to enter the tunnel; where he would be forced to crawl, some of us are small enough to walk through it stooped over.   
“You will hear other houses boast of their security arrangements, but it so happens that in more than a thousand years, the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories have never been seen by outsiders. Like badgers, we know exactly how to lie low - and how to defend ourselves” Gabriel talks as we file into the tunnel entrance.  
“Once you've opened the barrel, crawl inside and along the passageway behind it, and you will emerge into the cosiest common room of them all. It is round and earthy and low-ceilinged; it always feels sunny, and its circular windows have a view of rippling grass and dandelions.”   
Inside, it’s exactly how Gabriel described it. Emerging from the upwards slope of the tunnel, warm bumblebee colours greet us. A fireplace with an carved mantel sits in a wall, and a large painting of a woman hangs above it, smiling and toasting her goblet. Plants are hanging from the ceiling and sitting perched on the windowsills. Some cacti on curved shelves are moving about. The wood of the tables and doors is honey-coloured, adding to the warmth of the space. The circular windows high up the walls are currently dark with the night outside.   
Sarah and I join the group in the middle of the room as Gabriel emerges from the tunnel, bring up the rear of the group. He continues again with his enlivened speech.  
“Hufflepuffs are trustworthy and loyal. We don't shoot our mouths off, but cross us at your own peril; like our emblem, the badger, we will protect ourselves, our friends and our families against all-comers. Nobody intimidates us.”  
“However, it's true that Hufflepuff is a bit lacking in one area. We've produced the fewest Dark wizards of any house in this school. Of course, you'd expect Slytherin to churn out evil-doers, seeing as they've never heard of fair play and prefer cheating over hard work any day, but even Gryffindor (the house we get on best with) has produced a few dodgy characters.”  
“Our Head of house, Professor Pomona Sprout, is Head of Herbology, and she brings the most interesting specimens (some of which dance and talk) to decorate our room - one reason why Hufflepuffs are often very good at Herbology,” he gestures to the plants around the room, some of which wave at us.   
“Our house ghost is the friendliest of them all: the Fat Friar. You'll recognise him easily enough; he's plump and wears monk's robes, and he's very helpful if you get lost or are in any kind of trouble.”  
“I think that's nearly everything. I must say, I hope some of you are good Quidditch players. Hufflepuff hasn't done as well as I'd like in the Quidditch tournament lately.”  
“You should sleep comfortably. We're protected from storms and wind down in our dormitories; we never have the disturbed nights those in the towers sometimes experience. And once again: congratulations on becoming a member of the friendliest, most decent and most tenacious house of them all.” With that, he directs the girls to the door on the left and the boys to the door on the right.  
I say goodnight to Sarah and fall into step beside Justin. The only sounds as we find our beds, our luggage already brought up, are the sounds of exhaustion. I let Hadley out of his cage, and he immediately jumps up onto the patchwork quilt on my bed. I get changed and into bed, but I can’t fall asleep. The heavy breathing around me indicates the others were pretty drained from the day’s ordeal.   
My mind’s wandering through the memories of the events; the friends I’ve hopefully made in Sam and Sarah, then finding Justin and the implications of that encounter. The Sorting and the Sorting Hat knowing I’m Loric. How it revealed there was another Loric kid in Ravenclaw. I need to write to Henri as soon as I can.   
I stare at the ceiling for a good hour or so before sleep finally takes me, though I find little rest.


	7. Chapter 7

The first day of classes is havoc. The Hufflepuff first-years all leave the dorm together, Sarah and I included. Justin’s with us too, but he seems to have struck up a bit of a connection with Ernie. I’m glad, to a degree. Even though Justin’s a nice guy, a good friend, he’s also almost exhaustingly cheery and talkative, and it’s too easy for me to slip up and say something that doesn’t fit with my story as Ian Forth.   
We make it to the Great Hall with no mishaps and without getting lost. I feel rather proud of this accomplishment, because I know with absolute certainty we’re going to be getting lost a bit around the castle. At least I can find my way between the Great Hall and the basement without trouble.   
Heaping my plate with bacon and toast, I almost knock it all onto the floor in surprise as over a hundred birds stream inside. Owls, messenger owls. They’re flying around, dropping letters and papers and the occasional parcel. A letter drops in front of me and I look up to see Henri’s owl fly off. I look around to see that Sarah’s gone to sit with Emily at the Ravenclaw table. I won’t follow her. I haven’t seen Sam yet. I open the letter. 

John -  
How’s magic treating you? I hope your first day wasn’t too traumatic and you met some good people. Just checking in to make sure everything’s alright and in order. I don’t know what to say - there’s just so many things I want to know about where you’re at.  
-Henri

Be careful what you write. Mail mightn't be very secure. To anyone else, it would probably sound like a really pointless, awkward letter. I stuff the letter into my pocket as Sam falls into a seat beside me, lightly panting. I raise an eyebrow.  
“How goes it?” I ask, nudging my plate slightly away from his flailing arms as he assembles his breakfast.  
“Uuugh,” he groans. “This place is a bloody maze.” I just grin.  
“What does your schedule say?”  
“I have Herbology first, in Greenhouse 1. Where on earth do you reckon that is?” Sam replies in exasperation.  
“Great, we must be in the same class then,” I grin, happy that we’ll be able to spend time together in class. He looks tired, and while one hand is shovelling food into his mouth, the other is rubbing at his eyes. Obviously his misdirectioned wander through the castle hadn’t helped him wake up.  
Herbology with the Gryffindors is peaceful and a lot of fun. Sam introduces his dorm-mates to me, and Sarah and Lavender Brown are caught up talking. Professor Sprout, our Head of house, finished talking about five minutes ago, introducing us to the subject and laying out the rules, expectations and vague coursework for the term. I think Sarah and Lavender met through their families because they already seem familiar.   
The Irish boy, Seamus Finnigan, seems like good company, and Sam seems to have attached to him of all the Gryffindor boys. He also introduces me to Neville and the red-headed Ron Weasley and the famous kid I know nothing about, Harry Potter. He has an interesting lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and his round glasses fit a lot better than Sam’s. Dean Thomas seems nice enough as well.  
A character that certainly intrigues me is Ms Granger - Hermione, I remember from the Sorting - who seems to have been put in the wrong house from what I’ve heard and seen. She has an answer for every question Professor Sprout asks, eagerly raising her hand.   
After Herbology, I have Charms. After an hour spent with the tiny Professor Flitwick, I can predict that my next few classes of the week won’t have much work in them. We’ll just be going over introductions and settling into school and routine.   
On the way between Charms and lunch, we manage to get lost on the way back from the South Tower. There are few students in the halls, most already down in the Great Hall. Just our luck that there’s a ghost hanging around the fourth floor. However, when Ernie tries to get his attention, he turns and notices the group of us. He has dark eyes, wicked yet laughing, and a wide mouth.   
“Ickle firsties! Lost in the castle, are we?” he says with an evil cackle.   
“Uh, no. Sorry for bothering you,” I stutter before anyone else can speak up. He just laughs maniacally in response.  
“Don’t want to huff and puff your way down to lunch for a bit of fun?” he says, and evil glint in his eye. A sinister grin is stretched across his face. We shake our heads mutely, backing up as a group.  
“Peeves! Stop harassing the first-years before I call the Baron over! Now, go away!” An older student with red hair wearing a Gryffindor tie approaches with hasty steps, an annoyed look on his face. Peeves wags his tongue at him and disappears into a suit of armour and takes a bow.   
“Pretty Percy; you should be more like those brothers of yours.” Peeves tsks with disappointment, emerges from the armour and swoops, laughing, down the hall, leaving indignant yelps from the portraits behind him as he upsets their frames.   
“Follow me. You’re looking for the Great Hall, yes?” A few stammered ‘yes’s and mute nods later, we follow the Gryffindor boy through the castle. He’s a Gryffindor prefect, and Ron Weasley’s older brother. We’re back shortly, and I’m in no hurry to experience a run-in with the poltergeist again.   
I sink into a seat beside Sam at the Gryffindor table.   
“What happened to you?” he asks when he notices the tired and slightly horrified look on my face. He seems in a better mood but more sleepy than at breakfast.  
“Peeves the poltergeist was going to help us back from Charms after we got lost,” I gesture to the rest of the Hufflepuffs around their table. Sam sighs with sympathy.  
“We met him last night on the way to the dorms. Percy told him off, but he dropped walking sticks on Neville’s head before he left.”  
“Ouch. What did you just have?” I ask, putting some much-needed food on my plate.  
“History of Magic. I almost fell asleep. I think Professor Binns is the most boring teacher in existence.” At the look I give him, he defends himself. “Hey, I was one of the few people who managed to not go to sleep.” His glasses slide up his forehead as he rubs at his eyes as testament to his words. “I don’t know how Hermoine did it.” We fall into comfortable silence, each in our own thoughts.  
“Who has a class in the dungeons? It’s more than a little creepy,” I suddenly protest. “And why does a school have a dungeon?” Sam gives an open harumph, shrugging his shoulders.  
Our potions class is shared with Ravenclaw, I discover, when I walk into class with Sarah. Ernie, Justin and Hannah are already here, but no more Hufflepuffs. Emily and a pretty Indian girl, Padma Parvati, are sitting in the middle of the room. Emily motions for us to join them. Hesitantly, I follow Sarah and sit on the outside, furthest from the two Ravenclaw girls, the Sorting Hat’s warning running through my mind.   
I shuffle in my seat nervously as three Ravenclaw boys sit behind me. As soon as the clock ticks over, the teacher marches in and stands over his desk. One look at him and I’m trying to keep myself in my seat. He easily resembles the Mogadorians that almost caught us in Belgium: dark hair, pale skin, dark eyes, and dressed in black. That, and a bad vibe, one that leaves me squeamish and thinking that I’ll dislike this teacher.   
He calls out the register. When he reaches my name, instead of just my surname, he calls ‘Mr John Smith’ with a sneer, followed shortly after by ‘Mr Zacharias Smith’. I hate that my name, although fake, is shared with such a person as Zacharias. The little I’ve seen of him so far hasn’t inspired me to like him. Kind of similar to Professor Snape. Finished with the roll, Snape begins talking about the class, like the other teachers had done earlier.  
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”   
I can feel the scowl on my face. My hands are clenched tightly on the edges of my seat in order to prevent me from doing something stupid; either leaving the class or saying something to this so-called teacher. The whole room is silent.   
“Who can tell me what I would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Snape asks the gaping silence. When no one volunteers an answer, “Boot?”  
“I-I don’t know, sir,” one of the Ravenclaws behind me stammers.   
“How about you, Macmillan?” Snape frowns, turning his glare to Ernie, who mutely shakes his head. “Asphodel and wormwood make an extremely powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death. Can anyone tell me where I would look for a bezoar?” At the continued silence, Snape’s face twitches slightly.   
The silence is broken by a loud crack! and every head in the room turns in my direction. I can feel my face heating up and look down at the chunks of wood in my hands, snapped off the chair.  
“Mr Smith, detention after class for breaking school property. Is there a particular reason why you felt the need to break the chair?” Snape sneers. Everyone’s still staring at me.  
“No, sir,” I gulp out. I carefully put the pieces of broken chair on the table and try to make myself as small as possible. Once Snape has finished glaring at me, Sarah asks if I’m okay. Then he gets us to work in partners to brew a simple boils cure, Sarah pairs up with me. It’s the first actual work we’ve had to do today.  
“Your snake fangs are too coarse. Trying to destroy more of my classroom with this abysmal attempt to produce explosive soup, Smith?” Snape slurred. Sarah puts a hand on my forearm in a calming gesture.   
“Sorry sir, we’ll grind them finer,” Sarah says. Snape moves on. At ‘Corner and Goldstein’, two of the Ravenclaw boys seated behind me, he gives a superior sniff and his snarl remains in place, but he says nothing else and proceeds to the next pair.   
“Finally, perhaps some talent has arrived. What Boot and Hoyle have here is what I expect from all of you. Two points to Ravenclaw,” Snape says with a touch less derision in his voice, peering into the cauldron. It’s obvious they’re working in a good team and are further ahead than the rest of us.   
At the end of the class, I’m in a worse mood than when I broke the chair. The professor’s a big bully and seems to hate children, which is what completely stumps me as to why he’s working as a teacher. I’m walking with Justin and Susan to History of Magic, having just been reminded by Snape to be ‘back later this evening for your detention.’  
History of Magic is just as boring as Sam had said it was. Professor Binns, an old ghost, has such a monotonous voice I wouldn’t have believed it without hearing it. I don’t remember anything Binns said during class. Now it’s time for the dreaded detention with the Potions Master.  
Snape has me cleaning all the cauldrons that were used during his day’s classes, manually. Not that I know any magic that would be able to do the job. It takes almost two hours, and by the time I stumble into the Great Hall for dinner, Sam and Seamus are almost finished their food. Sarah is sitting with Emily at the Hufflepuff table, but they look like they’re about to leave, having finished.   
A few students look up and stop conversation when they notice me, but thankfully it only lasts a couple of seconds before they go back to their engagements.   
“John!” Sam calls me over to him. I sit next to Seamus, because the seat next to Sam is occupied by Hermoine, and the opposite seats are taken by Harry and Ron. “You look like hell. What’s up?”  
“Detention with Professor Snape from-”  
“So you did! You broke one of Snape’s chairs! You wait til Fred and George hear about this. You’ll be the new hero of the school! Nobody likes that nasty old snake,” Ron butts in, in an awestruck and accusing way. I’m not quite sure what to make of him. This is the first conversation I’ve had with him.  
“Honestly, Ronald! It was a stupid thing to do, and I’m sure John knows that. He doesn’t need your hero worship for something that goes against the school rules,” Hermione pipes up from Sam’s side, looking rather annoyed. “You do know that it was wrong, don’t you?” She continues, accusingly facing me. I nod, my eyes tracing patterns in the table.   
“Calm down, Hermione. I don’t think it was intentional,” the Irishman speaks up, though he has a big grin on his face disagreeing with his words. Hermione just huffs with annoyance. Her outburst has silenced Ron, who’s sitting opposite fuming.   
“It was only a chair! I'm sure worse things happen every day... And how do you hate Snape? You haven't had him yet,” I protest. Hermione gets up and leaves with a reproachful sniff.   
“Fred and George like pranking him. He’s the worst of the teachers, they say. And he’s the Head of Slytherin house. And he was staring at Harry last night at dinner.” Ron explains around a mouthful of food.  
“Besides, that’s not the point. The point is that you got detention on your first day, for breaking a chair!” Seamus finishes for the red-head. I feel like slamming my head into the table. Upon seeing who I suppose are the Weasley twins, Fred and George, approaching, I do so.  
“Hey Ron,” one says.  
“This that brave Hufflepuff who broke ol’ Snape’s chair?” the other asks. At the confirmations from around the table, they chorus, “Awesome!” I still haven’t raised my head from the table, but I hear them make their departure.  
“Hey, John, you going to eat something?” Sam asks worriedly beside me. I pull my face away from the table, stick a potato in my mouth and leave with the excuse of sending a letter to Henri. Sam volunteers to come with me, and I don’t decline.  
Finally finding the owlery, I pull some parchment and a pencil out of my bag. I need much more practice with a quill before I can use one reliably. Sam however pulls out a quill and ink and starts playing around while I write.

Henri -  
It’s a castle. The school is a bloody castle. In Scotland, I think. I don’t know if you’re aware, but we’re sorted into houses by this talking hat that sees into your mind. I've heard that one of my cousins are in Ravenclaw, but I haven't seen them yet - I don't want to make my life complicated just yet. Anyway, I’m in Hufflepuff house, so is Sarah. Do you remember Sam? His mum ambushed you in the Owl shop. I think we’re pretty much friends, but he’s in Gryffindor. Also I broke a chair today and got detention from the Potions Professor, Snape. He reminded me a lot of the people we met on that holiday to Belgium. I don’t think they’re related though.  
Also, I ran into Justin Finch-Fletchley, my old friend. I don’t want to go through that explanation again. Ian isn’t such a bad middle name, but I was a bit worried he wouldn’t believe me. Also, there’s another Smith here. People keep asking if we’re twins. The guy is horrible. I’m starting to get peeved. Oh yeah, there are ghosts here, and a poltergeist. The portraits and pictures move and are sentient. It’s definitely weird.  
Do you have any news back home? I’ll see if wizards have any kind of news or anything tomorrow.  
\- John

Checking it over briefly to make sure I’m happy with it and that all my meanings are obscured, I tie the roll of parchment to the leg of one of the school owls, give it a treat and send it off. Turning back to Sam, he’s attacking his soggy parchment with his quill. In places, he’s drawn around ink spatters to form pictures of typical martians. Some of the larger dots have rings sketched around them, like Saturn. Most of the page however is covered in blotts and scribbles. With a final attempt that results in a series of loops concluded by a puddle of ink, he packs his things away with a sigh.  
“You alright, John?” He hasn’t mentioned the detention yet.  
“Yeah, I just needed to get some stuff out of my system. Snape didn’t help, but I think I’m good now.” I sigh. Sam just nods in understanding.  
“If you want to talk about it…” he offers. I think he wonders how I managed to break the chair. None of the others have the kind of quiet intelligence Sam seems to possess.   
“Nah. I’m alright. Let’s just go to bed. I could really use some sleep before tomorrow,” I say with a yawn. Sam readily agrees and we head to our dorms quickly, breaking apart when he turns up a flight of stairs towards the Gryffindor common room.   
The other boys - Ernie, Justin, Zacharias, and Wayne - are already in bed when I get back. I take no notice of them, and when I climb under the covers, I’m asleep almost immediately. I welcome it wholeheartedly after the day I’ve had.

**Author's Note:**

> WHOO okay here's to first stories. This is on fanfic.net as well. Please enjoy it. Updates regularish.  
> Also I own neither Lorien Legacies or Harry Potter, and I've used some of the dialogue from the books.


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